Frankie McGee, "Mid-Morning Steam, Rising"

the sun is a wash over your still faceit’s so visceral I can almost feel it in my skinbut our bodies are prairies apartendless sky and railroad ties pacing distance apartmy body is a fence poststicking out of Manitoba snowand yoursis something different.I can’t describe it because I am not in ityour embodiment feels faraway-foreign to mebut then, so does mine, most days.the grass is muddy-wet with spring meltand I am mid-morning steam, risingI am nothing sturdyand aching to hold joy in the soles of my handsaching to bleed with warmth of affectionlike a boot print in a thin covering of snowenough heat to melt this momentI am a mess of a cradle for this bodyall tender no callousskin waiting for warmth like sun.there is nothing simple about being in a bodynothing truly romantic about longingor the slow, heavy heave of waitingfor the weighted pause of skin against another’s skinyet I write beauty into lonelinesslike it will ease the acheI speak beauty into longingas if voicing it will soothe this bodyand when the poem is overI am left with the same acheI am left both severed from and bound to this bodyas I was when it beganI am leftforever rediscoveringthat my words are no substitute for affectionno soothing balmno breathing bodyto hold onto.

Frankie McGee is a fierce, tender-hearted poet living on the unceded territories of the Musqueam, Squamish, and Tsleil-Waututh peoples, in what is colonially known as Vancouver. Frankie’s work is grounded in their experiences as a disabled and mentally ill queer, non-binary person navigating a world not built with their needs in mind. Through the honesty of their work, they aim to create spaces where people can be as they are.